


Worth The Climb

by Havanar



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Scenting, Camping, Comfort, First Kiss, Fix-It, Gay Panic Hiking, Getting Together, Healing, Implied/Referenced Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of War Trauma, Post-Canon, Post-War, Recovery, Shiro has a therapist, sheith talk about their feelings, there was only one tent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29569683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havanar/pseuds/Havanar
Summary: A year after the war Shiro takes Keith hiking on New Daibazaal. He promises himself he'll confess when they reach the peak.(Set after season 8, but crurtains doesn't exist)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87
Collections: Sheithlentines 2021





	Worth The Climb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glaciya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaciya/gifts).



> This is a sheithlentines 2021 gift for @glaciya! You asked for exploring an alien world and galra courting techniques. I'm not quite sure I got in the galra courting techniques but I did my best, hope you like it!!

Keith perches on the edge of a splintered tree stump in front of Shiro. It sits at the turn of their path, as if to direct confused climbers. Keith probably isn’t the first hiker to turn it into a seat while he waits for his slower, less fit, companion to catch up. The thought doesn’t make Shiro feel any less embarrassed.

There had been a time when  _ Keith  _ couldn't keep up with  _ him _ .

Shiro lets out the breath he’d been holding when he reaches Keith. Trying not to pant like a cadet running his first mile.

“You’re slowing me down, old man.” Keith grins, pushing himself off the stump with a spring, his pack jostling back into place.

Shiro holds up a hand in pause. He needs another moment to catch his breath before they start moving again.

He doesn’t need to explain. Keith understands.

Shiro watches out of the corner of his eye as Keith pulls out their orientation device. Keith leans back further into the tree stump, swiping through the menu while he waits.

Shiro hates mountains. They’re one of the few things he hadn’t missed when his parents made the leap from Japan to Texas. His elementary school, one of the smallest in Kanazawa, had sat at the base of a mountain. Every year, on a grim Saturday in October, the entire school had climbed it. By the time he was in sixth grade Shiro had become sick of mountains.

Mt Zylluk is different at least. It’s not the tallest on New Daibaazal, a planet which mirrors the old home of the Galra, but it is one of the most beautiful. Or at least, that's what the website had said when Shiro booked the tour. There’s no possibility of bears like there had been in Japan. Or, at least the guide he’d purchased the tour from had promised him there wouldn’t be. No gigantic bugs either, so far, and the Earth beneath them is red, not brown. The path in front of them wide.

Shiro's heart rate is still soaring. He tries to disguise it by reaching into his pack to retrieve his water bottle.

His Altean arm, the one not actually attached to his shoulder, misses the bottle.

Being able to reach things a normal human couldn't should be a benefit of his latest prosthesis. Shiro still hasn't quite got the hang of it yet.

_ “Estimated five hours until destination.” _ The orientation device says from Keith’s hands. It's voice has the same tinny quality as the simulators back at the Garrison.

_ “Would you like to rate your trip so far?” _ It adds, just as Shiro manages to clench his fingers around the lid of his water bottle, pulling it from his pack.

The water is pink, normal on New Daibazaal, their tour operator had assured him. It tastes sweet as Shiro holds the bottle to his mouth.

Krolia had suggested New Daibazaal for their trip. The planet is newly discovered. A mirror of the old Galra homeland, with no connection to the Empire. It's coalition governed, open to any refugees of the war.

It had seemed like a good idea for their trip, their first real break since the war. Shiro had been sold when he’d found the guided tour to the peak of Mt Zylluk. It had boasted a weak intergalactic signal, an orientation device and pre-prepared equipment. It had seemed like the perfect solution. Keith wouldn't be able to work without a phone signal. Shiro's terrible sense of direction wouldn't get them lost. It needed minimal planning. But Shiro hadn’t factored in his hatred of climbing mountains.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s done drinking. Taking in how relaxed Keith looks among the trees. His white sneakers already tinged orange by the red of the earth beneath them.

“I remember you having more energy.” Keith says, looking up as Shiro slides the water back into his pack, he's more successful this time.

“Dying does that to you,” He replies.

Shiro realises his mistake as soon as the words are out of his mouth. His head jerks up to see Keith's grin falling from his face. His shoulders shifting uncomfortably.

_ For fuck's sake, Takashi, _ he berates himself.

Keith is pulling that face. The one he had pulled back in the Astral Plane when Shiro had admitted that he’d died in the fight with Zarkon. The one he pulls every time Shiro brings it up. Every time he complains about his arm, talks about Kerberos or the arena.

_ This trip is meant to be about Keith. _ Shiro reminds himself. About forgetting the war. It’s supposed to be a break, for both of them, away from work. Away from the nightmares of Galra invasions, of Keith’s blade trials, of their fight at the clone facility.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. It’s not enough, but Keith’s face softens anyway.

“You don’t have to apologise every time Shiro,” Keith says as he stands up.

Shiro follows him as he turns onto their next path. Orientation device beeping in his hand.

“I know you use humour to cope,” Keith continues, giving him a look over his shoulder.

_ To cope. _ Shiro doesn’t think he’s coping. He thinks, hopes, that he’s healing. Recovering. Hopes Keith is too. He looks better than the last time Shiro had seen him. It had been a pitstop on Earth between Blade missions. They’d barely had time for dinner before Keith had crashed out on his couch with dark circles beneath his eyes.

He looks better today. Eyes brighter, a little less thin.

Shiro’s sifted through his feelings since then. He’s spent almost every hour he isn’t teaching a new class of MFE’s thinking about Keith. Thinking about his feelings for Keith. He doesn’t think all the feelings in his heart belong to him. But they all burn bright.

* * *

They follow the trail up the side of Mt Zylluk in silence after that. The grass surrounding them is greener than that of Earth. Shiro puts it down to the red soil beneath his feet, it's got to be better than Earth soil, he decides.

The orientation device in Keith’s hand pipes up as they reach another fork in the trail.

_ “Turn right to enter the expert trail. Turn left to maintain route on sunrise course.” _ It says.

Keith makes the left-hand turn, away from the sharp incline to their right. Shiro silently thanks his past self for booking the shortest, easiest, hike. It should take a day and a half to reach the peak, with a stop at a campsite in-between. Shiro had felt guilty about it at first. His pre-Voltron self would never have taken the path of least resistance. Would never have let himself get out of shape the way he’s done in the year since the war. Now he finds that he doesn't mind not pushing himself so much. He likes rest days. He doesn’t mind being soft.

Keith doesn’t comment about the lack of any real incline. He hasn’t gravitated towards the more challenging route once on this trip. It strikes Shiro that a pre-Voltron Keith would have egged him into racing to Mt Zylluk’s peak. That the Keith of Voltron would have taken the tougher route anyway, just to prove he could.

_ We’ve grown up. _ Is the only answer Shiro can come up with.

The idea used to upset him, when he could only dream of leaving Earth’s atmosphere from hospital beds. His illness hanging over him along with the clouds.

He doesn’t mind the idea anymore. It feels nice. Settled.

Keith turns back to check on him every few minutes. His hair, tied into a loose ponytail to keep it out of his eyes, swinging like a pendulum.

He’s either making sure Shiro is still there or giving him a chance to catch up. Shiro isn’t sure. But there’s no criticism in Keith’s face when he turns. No annoyed slant to his lips, no furrowed brows either, which is usually how he knows Keith is unhappy. But there is something in the way his eyes don’t quite meet Shiro’s. _ Keith is working through something. _ He does that sometimes. It’s not as bad as it used to be. Shiro’s found that leaving him to it is usually the best way forward.

Shiro imagines them as beams of light along the map, inching closer to their destination. Their guide, a tall Galran with large fluffy ears, had said that he would be tracking them, just in case. It’s something else Shiro is thankful for. Exploring planets as the Black Paladin had always come with responsibility. Shiro could never focus on exploring, which was why he'd joined the Garrison in the first place. He always had to consider the potential threats. Had to remember where they'd landed their lions. Had to make sure Lance, Pidge and Hunk didn't disappear past his sight. The lack of responsibility today is freeing.

He watches as Keith walks. He’s a few steps ahead of Shiro now. The slight incline doing nothing to slow him down. His feet land in the red dirt beneath them easily. Despite his lack of proper hiking footwear (according to their guide). He reminds Shiro of a mountain goat, able to balance anywhere, without slipping.

Unlike Shiro, who stumbles over a root poking out of the dirt, despite his expensive hiking boots. He rights himself before any damage can be done, but Keith spins around. Worry etched over his face.

“I’m okay,” Shiro says quickly as Keith looks him over, finishing at the hiking boots. Brown with thick soles. His lips turn upwards into a grin.

“Told you you wouldn’t need ‘em,” he says, nodding at the shoes.

“Shut up,” Shiro chuckles and Keith turns back around, continuing their march to the peak.

Shiro can’t help the warmth he feels when he watches Keith. It spreads from his chest to his stomach, to his arms and the tips of his fingers, filling every crevasse. It burns stronger the next time Keith turns, giving Shiro a small smile.

Shiro loves him. Has loved him. Through The Garrison, through Kerberos. Through the war.

He’ll tell him when they reach the peak.

* * *

“Why did you choose New Daibazaal anyway?” Keith asks later, a bottle of water half pressed to his lips.

The light around them is beginning to fade casting the mountain in a soft purple haze. They’d stopped, at the orientation device’s suggestion, to marvel at the view. From here they can see Mt Moktik. New Daibazaal’s tallest mountain (according to their orientation device). It looms above Mt Zylluk. Tall and imposing. A light dusting of snow lying across its peak.

Shiro doesn’t know how to answer Keith’s question. He’d run the idea of hiking past him before booking. But he hadn’t mentioned New Daibazaal until they were on their way. He'd half expected Keith to override the ship controls and turn them around the moment he said it. Instead Keith had just given him a surprised look, eyebrows slightly raised. It was a look that told Shiro he was thinking too much.

“Your Mom recommended it,” Shiro says finally.

“Of course she did,” Keith laughs, ‘She’s been bugging me to find out more about my heritage.’

Shiro hadn’t considered Krolia having ulterior motives. He should have. She was a spy after all. A spy who infiltrated the most heavily guarded Galra ship during the war. A spy who could convince even the fiercest Galra generals to do what she wanted. But Shiro had also thought it was a good idea. For both of them. A way to reset what they associated with Galra.

Shiro watches as Keith deposits his water bottle in his pack. Watches the way his hands move, the exact same way his own do. Keith exchanges the bottle for his phone, holding it up with a grin. His eyes, the only clue that he isn't fully human, shine in the haze. He doesn't notice the way Keith points the camera at him.

The shutter clicks before Shiro can react.

“Hey!” He calls, reaching for the phone as Keith laughs.

Keith switches hands, keeping his phone out of Shiro's reach, but his Altean hand is no match. It reaches Keith before the rest of Shiro can and he grabs the phone. His Altean hand resting over Keith's. He tries to jerk it upwards, so that Keith has to let go. But it overshoots, and he's pulling the phone, and Keith towards the purple sky. He watches in horror as Keith’s sneakers leave the ground beneath them. As his arms reach so high that his T-shirt rides up, revealing the pale skin of his naval.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll delete it,” Keith grunts, still trying to pull the phone back to his chest despite hanging in mid-air.

Shiro’s eyes are stuck at the top of Keith's jeans. They grip his hips tightly, showing the red band of his underwear. Also not proper hiking gear.

“Shiro! Let go!” Keith continues, trying to pry the metal fingers from his phone now.

Shiro swallows.

He forces his hand to lower Keith, and the phone, back to solid ground before letting go. Keith stumbles, finding his balance quickly.

“Sorry,” Shiro mutters, reaching out to steady Keith, “still getting used to my arm.”

Keith looks ruffled as he bats Shiro’s hand away. It's a playful bat, the kind he would receive after ruffling Keith's hair at The Garrison.

“I was going to say let’s take a selfie to send to my Mom,” Keith says. He sounds exasperated. But it’s not the kind of exasperated tone he uses on Lance. It’s the kind he saves for Shiro. The one he uses when he’s annoyed, but not really annoyed, because Keith is never really annoyed with Shiro.

“Sorry,” Shiro reassures, calling his arm back, beckoning Keith along with it.

Shiro loops an arm around Keith's shoulder when he's within reach, pulling him in close. His wrist comes up to Keith's neck, encouraging him to lean into Shiro's shoulder. So close he can feel Keith’s breath on his neck.

He likes Keith here, within reach, he decides.

Touch is the best way to remind himself that Keith is safe, that the war is over.

“Two… One…” Keith says and the camera clicks.

They pull apart and Keith turns the phone so that both of them can see.

Keith’s eyes are soft, his shoulders relaxed. Shiro recognises his own smile, the one he reserves for cameras. Behind them the sun is high behind the haze. It makes their cheeks glow and Keith’s eyes shine

_ He’s beautiful. _

“Send it to me?” Shiro asks and Keith nods.

A few seconds later Shiro feels the vibration in his pocket.

“I’m sending it to Mom too.” Keith says, thumb dancing on the screen as he types a message.

Shiro opens his phone to find the first photo Keith had taken of him, face deep in thought. Except this time he's sporting a poorly drawn eyepatch and a lopsided pirate hat. Beneath it all though is the ghost of a smile. He’s looking past the camera, at what must be Keith.

Shiro feels the flush colouring his cheeks.

“Keith!” He calls. It’s meant to be scolding. The kind of tone he would use with Keith when he was still a cadet. The tone that used to make Keith flinch and apologise, but instead it comes out closer to a whine.

It’s met with a cackle from Keith instead.

* * *

“Do you even like hiking?” Keith asks as they start walking again, putting the clearing behind them. The sun has started its descent, casting the mountain in a maroon glow. They’re only a few kilometres from their campsite now, according to the device. Keith, clearly relieved by this knowledge, has slowed his pace to match Shiro’s. Slow enough to return to their conversation about Shiro’s vacation choices.

Shiro considers lying. But Keith would know. He always knows when Shiro is lying. Shiro stands up straighter when he lies. Keith had told him after a tense meeting with a new member of the coalition. Shiro had promised territory gains would get an even split between coalition members. Something he’d had no intention of doing. Keith had later described him as standing to attention. Ever since then Shiro’s been more careful about lying to Keith.

“No,” Shiro finally replies.

“Shiro, this was meant to be a vacation for both of us,” Keith chide. It's something else pre-Voltron Keith would never have done. Shiro finds he doesn't mind.

“I know,” Shiro says, his tone defensive as he throws his hands up in mock surrender. Keith would never have agreed to a hike if he knew Shiro hated them. Keith would never do, let alone suggest, anything Shiro didn’t want to do. It makes him feel selfish, like too much of Keith has been moulded around him, his thoughts, his desires.

“I’m sorry,” he adds when he catches the surprise on Keith’s face. He makes a conscious effort to soften his tone.

"I just wanted to do something for you," He admits, shifting his eyes to the path ahead of them.

Keith doesn’t argue, like he would have in years before. Cadet Keith would have told Shiro he didn’t need the coddling that he didn't want the special treatment. Paladin Keith would have insisted Shiro was more deserving than himself.

Post-war Keith accepts his words for what they are.

“Thanks,” Keith mumbles, so quietly it almost gets lost in the crunch of leaves beneath their feet.

“You deserve it Keith.”

“But next time we’re staying in a luxury hotel.”

Shiro laughs.

* * *

As dusk falls on New Daibazaal the greenery surrounding them begins to glow. Light pours out from the deep grooves of tree trunks at the edge of their path. The grass at their feet and the leaves above them also take on a fluorescent glow, lighting their way.

Shiro is happy to accept it. It’s not the weirdest thing he’s seen on an alien planet. But Keith pulls out their orientation device, swiping until he gets to the fun facts submenu.

_ “Glowing foliage is a natural phenomenon of New Daibazaal. The soil is rich in zinc sulphide. This reacts with the natural copper of plants creating a phosphors effect.” _

“Weird,” Keith mumbles, looking up at the canopy of leaves above them. They glow like the stars Shiro’s father had placed on the ceiling of his childhood bedroom.

“I like it,” Shiro decides.

_“Would you like to rate your trip so far?”_ The device asks and Keith switches the screen off.

Shiro ignores the “Fuck off,” he thinks he hears from Keith’s mouth as he shoves the device back into his pocket.

* * *

Before New Daibazaal falls to the night they're directed away from the trail. Down a much narrower path, the short walk leading them to a small clearing. It's surrounded by glowing trees, a glistening pink stream runs along the far edge. In the middle sits a campfire, pre-lit, with two folding chairs next to it.

Shiro wants to cry with relief when he notices the tent, tucked away beneath a canopy of glowing leaves. Keith could book them the fanciest hotel and Shiro would never be as thankful as he is right now. The last thing he wants to do after a day’s hiking is battle with a tent, light a fire, cook his own food.

Keith heads straight for the tent, dumping his pack outside and sticking his head inside.

But Shiro doesn’t follow. He drops his pack on one of the chairs, they're yellow. Like the tent.

The tent.

Singular.

He’s sure he booked two tents. He remembers clicking open the drop down menu. Selecting the number two. Hitting confirm.

But when he looks around he doesn’t see anywhere else to sleep.

“There are two sleeping bags.” Keith calls.

Yes, Shiro was planning to confess his feelings to Keith at the peak of Mt Zylluk.

Yes, Shiro had been thinking about spending the night with Keith for a long time.

Yes, sometimes, to get to sleep, Shiro imagines the pillows behind him are Keith.

But he hadn’t meant to only book one tent.

He hadn’t meant to force Keith to share a tent with him, not right before the confession he’s been planning for weeks.

Keith must see the dilemma playing across his face from across the clearing.

“Shiro?” He calls, worry weaving its way into his tone. That’s the last thing Shiro wants. He knows how Keith works. How fast the worry will turn into doubt. How Keith’s mind is  probably already racing to all the wrong reasons why Shiro wouldn’t want to share a tent with him.

So he opts for honesty.

“I thought I booked two tents.” He says, with what he hopes is a nonchalant shrug, before moving closer. dropping to his knees next to Keith to peer inside.

The tent is roomier than it looks from the outside. Sleeping bags line the edges with a lantern already glowing in the corner.

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” Keith says when Shiro pulls his head back out. He finds honest blue eyes looking back at him from beneath jet black bangs.

Keith always hides behind his hair when he’s nervous, when he second guesses himself, when he’s blushing. Shiro doesn’t know which one it is today.

On instinct he reaches out, pushing Keith’s hair out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. His wrist grazes the spot where Keith's neck meets his shoulder. Keith’s eyes stay focused on him.

“We’ve shared closer quarters,” Shiro grins, leaning back on his heels.

Keith shakes the rest of his bangs from his face.

“I’m not sleeping on the floor of the Black Lion for you ever again,” he mutters.

Shiro holds back a laugh.

‘You didn’t exactly give me much choice,’ he hopes he says it  lightly . Hopes that reminding Keith of the war, of his death, doesn’t sour his mood again. In truth he doesn’t remember much of their journey back to Earth in his new body.

But he does remember waking up in Keith’s arms.

He does remember waking up to Keith's hand on his brow in the Black Lion.

“I was  just trying to look after you,” Keith retorts, his lips falling into a childish pout.

“You did,” Shiro replies.

He means it.

* * *

Night on New Daibazaal doesn’t bring the cold like it does on Earth. Instead it settles over them like a blanket, warm and all encompassing. The trees around them illuminate their clearing as stars begin to appear. 

Shiro and Keith settle by the campfire, the two dinner sets placed next to it drawing them in.

“The stars look brighter here,” Keith says his cheeks flushed from the heat of the fire. His meal box already in his hands. It steams when he opens it, Shiro does the same with his own set.

“New Daibazaal is newly inhabited, the sky here is probably just clearer.” Shiro shrugs, looking at his dinner set. It’s mostly meat. There’s a small section of vegetables, most of which he doesn’t recognise. He picks up what looks like a chicken wing, still on the bone, and inspects it.

Keith mirrors him, except he takes a bite straight away.

“It’s fish,” he tells Shiro around the mouthful.

Shiro wrinkles his nose. He’s never been a picky eater, but the taste buds of his new body, the clone’s body, are more sensitive. Fish doesn’t taste the same anymore. He keeps meaning to ask Pidge or Allura about it but he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. At the same time he doesn’t want to know what kind of fish has a wing and he definitely doesn’t want to eat it.

“Want it?” He asks Keith.

Keith’s eyes widen and he nods, holding his plate towards Shiro’s. He pushes it all onto Keith’s plate.

“Shiro,” Keith protests, the same way he had to whenever Shiro did this at The Garrison.

Back then he’d thought Keith was under eating. That he was all skin and bones. He hadn’t known then that Keith was half Galra. That he needed a strict diet of meat and protein, not the green vegetables that Shiro had loaded onto his plate.

“You need it more than me,” is all Shiro says in response.

He’s sure Keith’s cheeks flush a little brighter.

Shiro half expects an argument. Instead Keith scrapes the vegetables from his own plate onto Shiro’s. Shiro can’t help but laugh.

“Thanks Keith.” He says  gently , it’s not his ideal dinner, but at least he won’t have to eat fish.

They let the campsite fall into silence as they eat. The crackling fire keeps them warm and the glowing bark casts a soft enough light for them to see.

Shiro decides that he might hate hiking, but he doesn’t mind the quiet. His life in space had been a constant thrum of a ship's engine. The Hercules, the ship he flew to Kerberos had noisy thrusters. The Castleship had whirred as it maintained gravity. Black had purred as she made oxygen. In his Earth apartment he can still hear the thrum of wings, the screeches of brakes as they land.

“ I think I like New Daibazaal,” Keith says, breaking the silence between them. His plate lies empty at his feet now. His arms crossed atop his knees as he leans forward, gravitating towards the fire. 

“Yeah?” Shiro asks and Keith turns to him, his eyes reflecting the light of the glowing trees that encircle them, like a cat’s.

“Yeah. It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

Shiro has to agree.

Keith continues before he can.

“I’m  just … surprised you chose New Daibazaal. After everything,” his voice is small, uncertain, as he leaves the rest unsaid, but Shiro can fill it in.

_ After they captured you and had you imprisoned. _

_ After they took your arm. _

_ After they made you fight in the arena. _

_ After they killed you, cloned you, made you scar the face of the man you love. _

Shiro’s thought about everything a lot in the year since the final battle with Honerva. He’s talked it through with his therapist, a man, his father’s age, with kind eyes and a specialism in military PTSD. He still has nightmares. Still flinches when an especially large Galra ship lands in Garrison airspace. But he’s okay.

“ I think …” Shiro begins, trying to find the right words for how he feels. “I needed a new relationship with Daibazaal. One that doesn’t make me think of Sendak, or Zarkon and the Empire.”

Keith nods but doesn’t speak. Giving Shiro the space he needs to continue.

Shiro doesn’t say that he thinks Keith needs it too. That he thinks Keith needs to hear this.

“Because letting myself hate all Galra would be letting them win.” He starts again. Keith’s eyes have drifted back to the fire, but Shiro knows he’s listening.

The words are hard to push out, but he needs to say them. And Keith needs to hear them.

“Not all Galra are bad. Humans do bad things. Murder. Genocide. Rape. Racism. But we don’t say we’re  _ all  _ bad.”

His eyes prickle, the all too familiar warmth of tears making themselves known. But Shiro has to keep going, because he knows Keith. He’d held him as he sobbed out apology after apology the day he found out he was part Galra. He’d seen the pride on his face the first time he’d worn his Blade uniform. How he’s growing his hair out. Every now and again Shiro catches him trying to braid it like Kolivan’s. It’s not quite long enough yet. But he knows it will be, one day.

“I know so many good Galra.” Shiro says, his eyes meeting Keith’s.

Keith tilts his head. Hiding behind his bangs.

Shiro reaches out, a hand meeting Keith’s shoulder.

_ I love you.  _ Shiro wants to say.  _ No matter what. _

He gives Keith’s shoulder a squeeze instead.

Keith tries to disguise a sniff, turning to hide it in his shoulder.

_ Tomorrow. _ Shiro reminds himself.

“Let’s get some rest.” He says  gently . It’s a question  really , but he knows that asking will only have Keith double guessing his own answer.

* * *

They keep their clothes on in the tent. Ready for when their orientation device wakes them in a few hours. The final stretch of their climb will be in darkness, they should reach the summit  just in time for sunrise.

They unzip their sleeping bags, lined with dark charcoal fur, in silence. They remind Shiro of the sheepskin rug in his mother’s craft room. Smooth and cosy.

It’s not the first time he and Keith have shared a room. Falling asleep together, usually with his feet in Keith’s lap, had become a habit at The Garrison. One they’d brought with them onto the Castleship, except then it had become a reminder of home.

Shiro had grown accustomed to falling asleep with Keith’s weight on top of him. His head on Shiro’s shoulder. An arm on his chest. Legs tangled with Shiro’s own. Sometimes Shiro felt like it was the only thing stopping the nightmares. Keeping him away from dreams of the arena which plagued his sleep. Even when he had woken up, sweating and shaking, it was okay. Because Keith was there.

On their journey back to Earth Keith had taken to sleeping on his own, on the floor of Black’s bunk.

Shiro had never missed him more. 

Tonight feels like one of those nights.

Shiro’s grown accustomed to sleeping alone on Earth, with Keith a planet or a universe away on a Blade mission. But he’s still not quite used to the distance Keith pushes between them sometimes.

“’night Keith.” Shiro says extinguishing the lantern next to his sleeping bag. Their tent, like the clearing, stays in a perpetual twilight.

* * *

Shiro’s not sure what wakes him up, but he finds himself squinting at his phone at 3 AM. A full hour before their orientation device is set to wake them.

He lets his phone screen go dark, leaving the tent lit by the dusky hues of the New Daibazaal night. It’s  just enough light to appreciate how beautiful Keith looks when he turns over.

He’s closer to Shiro than he had been when they fell asleep. Hands lying between them, curled, inches from Shiro’s own. Shiro lets his eyes adjust to the light by watching Keith.

As his eyes focus he can see the way Keith's eyelashes line the tops of his cheeks. The sharpness of his jaw evident now his hair is out of his.

Shiro reaches out, taking Keith’s hand  cautiously . He wraps his palm around Keith's fingers. They're cold.

Keith shifts  slightly .

Shiro inhales, holds it, as Keith’s mouth opens, taking in his own breath.

‘Takashi,’ he sighs. It  barely cuts through the soft rustling of leaves outside their tent.

Shiro exhales.

He lets himself drift back into a doze after that, Keith’s hand encased in his.

* * *

Shiro regrets booking the ‘sunrise course’ the minute their alarm goes off at 4 AM.

He feels Keith jerk awake. Tearing his hand from Shiro’s. Pulling himself upright. Shiro watches as Keith looks around the tent for the source of the noise. He finds the off button on their device, presses harder than usual to make it stop.

Their tent falls back into silence as Shiro switches on the lamp. Taking Keith in as it begins to glow. His are eyes wide. Fingers still clutching the device. Hair dishevelled, sticking up  slightly on one side.

Shiro sends his arm across the chasm between them. Watching as Keith’s eyes track it’s journey. He’s careful, forces it to go  slowly . In all honesty he’s still getting the hang of this arm, even though he’s had over a year to practice. his fingers land next to Keith’s temple. It’s the same kind of gentleness he remembers using to land Black after a mission. The kind of telegraphed movements Keith had needed as a teen back in the garrison.

“Sorry,” he begins, smoothing down Keith’s hair as he talks, “I didn’t realise it would sound like the Castle’s alarm.”

Keith nods, leaning into the touch of Shiro’s prosthesis, eyes blinking  sleepily .

Shiro lets him for a moment. Something in his chest squeezes as he watches relaxation settle on Keith’s face . Letting Shiro support his cheek. It’s different to the bone deep tiredness he used to radiate on the Castleship. Calmer, more sure of himself. It’s an expression Shiro’s only seen him wear since the war ended. It fills Shiro with an almost uncontrollable urge to call Keith baby.

He swallows instead.

His hand drifts to Keith’s hair, smoothing it between his fingers to make it lie flat. He can’t feel the strands between his metal fingers, but he knows it’s soft. He knows from years of ruffling Keith's  unruly hair. From days spent brushing it when Keith lay sick in a hospital bed. From lazy days at his new Garrison apartment. Keith never seems to mind Shiro playing with his hair these days.

It would be so easy to tell him now. To lean over and press his lips to Keith’s. To whisper the confession he’s been harbouring since he woke up in his new body.

“Come on,” he says  quietly , when Keith’s hair no longer defies gravity. “We have a mountain to climb.”

* * *

The sky is still dark when they exit their tent, but this time there are beams of man made light in the distance. Their orientation device flashes to point them in the right direction.

“Do you need help with your headlamp?” Keith asks as pulls his pack onto his shoulders.

Shiro shakes his head and the headlamp falls over his eye. Keith laughs, eyes glowing in the dark, before he reaches out to adjust it for Shiro.

Shiro tries not to think about the tips of Keith’s fingers as they brush the sides of his head. Still a little cold.

“If I’d known I’d be the only one wearing a flashlight on my head I wouldn’t have booked the sunrise course,” he grumbles. He tries to keep his gaze away from the way Keith’s eyes.

“We can’t all be Galra,” Keith shrugs, giving the strap one last tug and stepping back.

‘Better?’ He asks.

Shiro nods.

His headlamp stays in place this time.

* * *

Mt Zylluk lights up in the early morning. Beams of flashlights dance along the edges of their campsite and then along the trail. Sometimes Shiro and Keith catch glimpses of other tourists through the trees. Their eyes reflecting the light of Shiro’s headlamp like Keith’s. Some of them have flashlights, casting long shadows along the dirt path. Diminishing the effect of the glowing trees around them.

Shiro and Keith follow them, and their beams of light like sailors following stars. Every other soul on the mountain seems to have the same goal: Reach the peak before sunrise.

Keith sticks close to Shiro’s side this time as the dirt beneath their feet turns into stones. Each step becomes steeper and steeper, until Keith has to  practically jump onto the next one. They remain close though.  Ridiculously close. Like Keith thinks Shiro will somehow stumble off the path.

They’re so close their knuckles brush. It’s quick. But a second is long enough to send a shock through Shiro’s entire nervous system.

Enough to remind him of what he’s about to do, if he isn’t too out of breath by the time they reach Mt Zylluk’s peak.

His therapist has told him over and over that imagining the future helps the mind prepare. Shiro’s imagined confessions to Keith many times.

Most often they happen in the midst of battle.

He'd pulls Keith out of a druid’s line of fire. Shout at him about getting himself in danger before leaning in for a kiss.

Their lions land after a hit from an Empire ship. Shiro is the one to meet Keith at Red’s door. He’d pull him out and into his arms. Whispering a soft  _ I love you _ .

Once, he imagined himself holding Keith after his blade trials. Whispering soft  _ it’s okay _ ’s into Keith’s hair. Muttering _ I love you no matter what _ ’s against his shoulder. Breathing I _ love you Keith _ into his back as he pulls down his under suit.

_ I’ve never imagined confessing in the future.  _ Shiro realises, as they come to a stop in front of a series of colossal boulders.

There are other climbers all around them. All  desperately trying to reach the summit before the sun makes an appearance. They help each other up, offering hands and careful shoves. Their lights illuminating the makeshift staircase in front of them.

The peak is meters above them now, clouds below, the first glimmers of gold peeking out from beneath. In front of them the boulders look  impossibly large, each step reaching Shiro’s hips.

“Guess we’re finally putting the  _ climb  _ in  _ mountain climbing _ ,” Keith mutters. He places a hand on the boulder in front of him, before lifting his leg, starting to climb.

Shiro tries not to let his eyes drift to Keith’s ass as he follows. But it’s difficult. Keith is graceful, his thighs strong, his jeans tight.

He leads the way  easily , maintaining his lead over Shiro. Always knowing where best to place his hands.

After conquering each boulder he turns, a smirk on his face, and reaches down to offer Shiro his hand.

Shiro always takes it.

Keith pulls him up, levelling them, until moving on to the next boulder.

* * *

The sky above them is a twinkling maroon colour when they reach the peak of Mt Zylluk. The trees below them no longer glow, the stars gone. Shiro had discarded his headlamp when flecks of gold appeared in the sky above them. They'd created enough light for human eyes.

The summit of Mt Zylluk is different to those of the mountains Shiro had climbed as a child. The mountains of Kanazawa hadn’t climbed high enough to leave the trees behind. Their summits covered in grass, with ample space for children to run, for bentos to  be eaten . Zylluk’s peak is empty in comparison. They’d left the trees, the grass and the flowers behind around the time they’d reached the boulders.  _ The staircase for giants. _ Keith had dubbed it. It hadn’t stopped him scrambling up them like a determined warrior.

There’s a makeshift information centre in front of them. It’s wooden, with a hand painted sign and a long queue of tourists, waiting to buy souvenirs.

**_Zylluk Peak 1,377m_ ** a sign  proudly reads to their left. It’s smothered with tourists, snapping photos, catching their breath from the climb. Keith is watching them, biting his lower lip as he pulls his jacket tighter around his waist. He folds his sleeves over his fingers to keep them warm. Shiro does the same. The temperature had dropped as they'd climbed. Neither of them had noticed until they'd stopped moving.

“ I think they’re selling coffee at the information centre,” Shiro says. He watches as a group of Olkari receive paper cups. Steam rising from the cups in the cool air.

Keith is about to open his mouth in reply when their orientation device beeps from his pocket. He pulls it out  clumsily , keeping his fingers sheathed under his sleeves.

_ “Congratulations. You have reached the highest point of Mt Zylluk.”  _ Their device announces, the tinny tone now familiar to Shiro’s ears.

_ “Would you like to rate your trip so far?” _

Keith’s fingers appear from beneath his sleeves, shoving the message away.

“Are you ever going to rate this trip?” Shiro laughs, Keith is looking at the device like it has  personally offended him.

_ “You have  _ _ been assigned _ _ a point to view the sunrise. Please follow the directions to sector N.” _

“I’ll rate it when it stops telling me what to do,” Keith mumbles as they turn, following the directions of their device.

It leads them through a forest of tourists. Each group perched on a series of blankets made of the same charcoal fur as their sleeping bags. They all face east, anticipating the sun, which is still fighting its way through clouds. Most of them are Galra. Purple skinned families, couples staring  lovingly into one another’s yellow sclera. Shiro still feels his chest tighten at the sight of them, even though there isn’t a single weapon in sight.

Children play at the edges of each sector, running back and forth, hiding behind parents. Variations of the playground games Shiro remembers from elementary school. The thing in his chest uncoils.

_ They’re tourists.  _ Shiro remind himself.  _ Just _ _ like us. _

There are other races mixed in with the Galra. Alteans, too young to remember the true horrors of the war. Balmerans, sharing food. There's even a large group of aging Olkari, inspecting the dirt beneath their feet.

Shiro and Keith  practically fall onto their blanket when they find it.  Just in time to see the edge of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.

The sector surrounding them is almost deserted. They watch as their closest neighbours drag their own blanket forward. Inching into sector M.

Shiro finds that he doesn’t mind the privacy it gives them.

He doesn’t exactly want an audience for his confession anyway.

There’s a low rumble of voices and footsteps on the summit.  Just loud enough for Shiro and Keith's own words to sink into anonymity.

“This is weird, right?” Keith asks into the quiet, his eyes flitting from tourist to tourist.

_ Old habits die hard. _ Shiro thinks, watching the way Keith’s hand shifts to his jacket pocket. Where his blade sits.

“Watching a sunrise on New Daibazaal, surrounded by Galra and Alteans alike? Nah.” Shiro replies, keeping his tone light.

Keith catches his eye.

Then he gives a laugh.

God Shiro loves him.

He loves Keith the way he’d loved the stars as a child. Spending days pouring over thick books about them, turning each page as if it were an adventure. Using a telescope to chart constellations. He’d write down everything he found out. Everything he discovered. 

He loves Keith the way he loves flying. The feel of a ship's console beneath his fingers, the way it lifts him, close enough to teach the stars. The thrill of it making him feel weightless. Like a million butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

“They all look so…” Keith pauses. Searching for the right words. His eyes return to the Galra family a few metres in front of them, before finding what he’s looking for, “normal.”

Shiro loves him more than the stars, more than flying. More than anything.

Before Voltron Keith had filled a small part of his heart, a vein,  perhaps . Shiro had wanted to look after him, had wanted him to be great. He had been. So great that the vein had carried that love into an atrium when they boarded the Castleship. When he woke up in Keith’s arms, in his new body he’d realised how full his heart was. How Keith had made his way into Shiro's bloodstream.

“So are we,” Shiro replies, “we’re not soldiers anymore. We’re not the Paladins of Voltron anymore.”

“ Just Shiro and Keith.” Keith fills in for him, eyes finding Shiro’s.

“ Just Shiro and Keith.” Shiro echoes.

The sun in front of them is  truly rising now, washing the mountain in with it’s glow. But Shiro  is caught in Keith’s gaze. Unable to move his eyes. He feels like he’s seven again, ignoring his father’s advice to not look  directly at the sun. except this time it’s Keith’s image that will be burnt into his retinas when he looks away.

He takes in the blue hues of Keith’s irises. The long lashes, the sharp cheekbones. His hair, almost brown in the bright sunlight, still a little messy from the night. Beautiful. Strong. Perfect.  _ Keith. _

Shiro opens his mouth, ready to tell Keith everything. To tell him how his chest hurts when Keith is off planet. How he worries when he's on a mission. How he feels like jumping when his ship lands. How everything feels right and safe when Keith is with him.

But he can’t find the words.

And Keith, bathed in sunlight, is looking at him. Eyebrows knitted in worry.

_ Keith doesn’t rely on words. _ Shiro decides.

And before he realises what he’s doing, his hands have reached out. The thumb of his prosthesis,  mercifully compliant, lands on Keith’s cheek. His fingers tucking into his hair, as he pulls Keith forward. Tilting his chin up as Keith’s mouth falls open.

Shiro presses their lips together.

Keith tastes  vaguely of toothpaste. It's the same brand Shiro uses.

Shiro had half expected kissing Keith to be explosions. The blinding lights of battle, the drop in his stomach as he lands his ship.

But Keith's lips are soft.

Warm.

Home.

Keith exhales.

Then he opens up, letting Shiro in, mouthing at his top lip  delicately . It’s tender. The safety of Keith’s shack that first night Shiro had spent back on Earth. The security of the Black Lion’s cockpit on their journey back to Earth. A shield against the rest of the universe.

Shiro presses in, once more, before breaking the kiss.

When they pull apart Keith’s hands are  loosely fisted in Shiro’s shirt. His lips red. His cheeks warm.

Shiro rests his forehead against Keith’s and breathes him in.

He closes his eyes. Mustering all the love in his heart, all the courage in his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers,  just loud enough for Keith to hear.

Keith’s breath hitches, he doesn’t move.

“I’ve loved you since the Garrison,” Shiro starts, unsure when he’ll finish, “loved you since I crashed back to Earth. I loved you through Voltron, through your Blade trials, I didn’t realise until I-” He catches himself.  _ Died. _

But Keith doesn’t let him get any further, his hands rise to Shiro’s neck, tugging him back into an open mouthed kiss.

Shiro lets him.

* * *

Their descent of Mt Zylluk takes a steeper, more direct route. They watch their step as they descend. According to their orientation device it will only take three hours.

They’d missed most of the sunrise, tangled up in one another’s arms. Shiro doesn’t mind, because now Keith’s hand is in his, steadying him when he stumbles along the sharp decline.

It doesn’t take long for them to leave Mt Zylluk’s peak behind. The trees reappear  quickly , lining the path like a Garrison welcome committee. Now that Shiro knows to look for it he can see their leaves glittering in the sunlight. Their luminescence bleeding through the bark.

Keith sticks close to him this time, hand sweaty in Shiro’s own as they walk. They’d been one of the last groups to leave, leaving their path home was clear and quiet.

Shiro gives Keith’s hand a squeeze.

“Did you know?” He asks into the silence around them. He watches Keith as they walk, eyes glued to the dirt in front of them, his sneakers now caked in orange dust.

Keith nods, side stepping a particularly large stone. The gap between them widening for a second before he returns.

“But I grew up on Earth,” he continues after a moment, “you don’t have to use Galra courting rituals on me.” 

Shiro almost stops in his tracks. Keith gives his arm a tug, eyes watching Shiro  carefully from under his bangs.

“Galra courting rituals?” Shiro splutters. His mind races back through every second of the past twenty-four hours. Every word he said, every look he gave, every touch he felt. He didn’t even know Galra  _ courted _ .

“Scenting?” Keith asks  quietly .

Shiro must give him a blank look because Keith lifts Shiro’s wrist  gently . Pulling it towards where his collarbone meets his neck.

“Right here.” He says, his voice almost lost within the wind.

Shiro’s cheeks betray him.

He'd put his wrist there for their picture. Brushed that spot when he held Keith's cheek in the tent. 

He pulls his hand away, letting Keith’s go in the process and shakes his head. He doesn’t know anything about Galra courting rituals. He doesn’t know anything about a secret spot on Keith’s neck either. It had never seemed like something to ask about during the war. It  certainly wasn’t a topic he would have broached with Krolia either, or any of the Blades for that matter.

“You  really didn’t know?” Keith asks, eyes widening in surprise as they slow to a stop.

Shiro shakes his head, “I  just like having you close Keith,” he admits.

Keith watches him  closely , eyes flitting from his torso to his head.  Just like he does when Shiro tells him he hasn’t been ordering take out every night.

“Are you checking if I’m standing up straight to see if I’m lying?!” Shiro exclaims and Keith bursts into a laugh. His smile is bright. Bright enough to illuminate the mountain. Bright enough to outshine the leaves in the dark, the stars and the sun combined. 

Shiro can’t help but laugh too, because Keith is here, with him, happy.

He reaches for Keith’s hand, entwining their fingers before giving a gentle tug. Keith comes  easily . Stepping into Shiro’s space, leaning up for another gentle kiss.

“Nah, definitely not lying.” Keith says as they pull apart, smile blazing.

* * *

Later that night, in the four-star hotel Keith had insisted on, Shiro receives a message.

**_New Daibazaal Tours: Would you like to rate your trip?_ **

Keith, already draped across Shiro’s back, leans over his shoulder to reach the screen.

#  **⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐**

**Author's Note:**

> If you read this far I hope you enjoyed this fic. I've only ever climbed two mountains in my life, so please don't judge me! (and yes, I was totally Shiro huffing and puffing as my incredibly healthy companion raced up the mountain to get to our station)
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Havanarr) sometimes!!!!!


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